In anticipation of this trip, about a month ago, I told my son that there would be a morning when we would get up as early as possible to high tail it to one of the highlights of the trip, the bamboo of Arashiyama, before the crowds overwhelmed the calm and grace of the setting. When I lived in Kyoto, I had grown accustomed to visiting the bamboo at my leisure and often during the quieter seasons or moments of the day when its draw only amounted to a few other passers-by. I’d jogged it regularly only competing with the occasional rickshaw driver and a handful of tourists, often Japanese tourists with only the faintest smattering of foreigners. Having heard warnings about the numbers of foreign tourists who had been coming over the last decade, I had images of being crammed to a standstill in the bamboo. My goal was to avoid that.
So, when Gabe woke up at 7am, he was ready to go. With minimal prep we were out the door. A quick stop at a convenience store for “fuel” and we were on our way. As we made out way to the train, I noticed a narrow road, its surface comprised of evenly-laid bricks rather than asphalt and I told myself, that if I had to, I could wander down this everyday street, blessed with a touch of history and refinement, and make something of it if we found Kyoto’s new crowds too much. With that I assurance I rode contented to our destination. As we closed in, I pointed out the familiar surroundings, commenting on what had and had not changes and retelling the story of how the signal at a nearby level crossing was sufficient signal for me to get my shoes on, descend three floors to the street and jog a few steps to the platform in time for the train.
When we arrived in Arashiyama, I could guide him to our destination without digression or doubt and get into the bamboo for its rewards. We didn’t find solitude, but the crowds at the bamboo at that part of the morning we moving rather than clotted and I frequently volunteered to photograph couples that settled for shooting one another in solo shots. There were no blossoms out yet, so many of the visitors gravitated to the purple of an azalea for some surrogate colour to tide them over while the pinks and whites remained wrapped for another day.
There were hints of pink in the distance but it was evident that the trees would still need more time, but it was unclear whether it would be hours or days. We wandered on away from the crowds and found another less crowded bamboo grove but one that was troubled by a pair of European tourists who were painstakingly videoing their movements time and again in the pink kimono that the woman was wearing. I paused for a while to assure them they had their shot but abandoned all patience when it was apparent that they’d be doing several takes of their desired shot.
As the day went on and I got a sense of the ways that the tourists were passing their day — some indulging in their vanity photography, others catching up on souvenir shopping at the expense of seeing the place they had paid so much to visit, others simmering at the size of the crowds they were a part of — I wondered if they were getting the deep sense of the place that I had appreciated through out my time living there. The crowds are changing the character of the place. Now it risks becoming a snapshot and a checked box when it has the potential to be a deeper experience for the people who take the time or, the people who have the opportunity to become familiar enough with it to be influenced deeply by the calm and routine there.
One highlight of the day, was the bittersweet return to my favorite restaurant in the city, a humble mom and pop that I visited on a regular basis and brought friends along to over the years as well. This time I was able to bring my son for their version of a fried chicken dish that is one of my favorites and may be among my most comforting. It was as busy as I could expect, but I got in relatively quick and was able to see everyone doing well. Beyond that was the treat of having that favorite prepared as always. It was a brief, insufficient reunion, such is the case when dropping in once a decade, unannounced and while they were at work, The chicken was as good as ever and the connection consistent as well.
The sense of the crowding struck hard. My return trip through the bamboo proved a challenge with the numbers of people even larger and the path harder to navigate. More significant, however, were the crowds at a nearby macaque refuge. Throughout the years I lived and worked there, I encountered no more than 5-20 people at a time, The crowds this time around, however, could induce a degree of claustrophobia among the macaques, who had lost a great deal of their space to the nearly 200 tourists who were there to observe them and take in the lives of these primates. There seemed to be fewer of the monkeys, and I wondered what the hordes had done to the life expectancy of the little guys. It likely would have made for an uncomfortably question so I held off, but it was a point of concern. I suspect many of the macaques retreated away from the tourists and further into the mountains.
The city still held much of its charm but I wonder how much of that was a matter of my familiarity with its past or something that would survive the numbers who were passing through. Kyoto’s recent initiatives to control the conduct of tourists around Gion to limit their disrespect of the geishas’ personal space is one intervention in the face of the poor and rude conduct of those tourists who may not know what they could get and experience while in Japan. If the country’s nation and people cannot be respected, then it is appropriate to protect them and correct the false impressions tourist have.
